


lightforce swords, and other trap cards you’re too chickenshit to play

by ezyl (gamblers)



Category: Durarara!!, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis, Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Duel Monsters, Dysfunctional Relationships, Excessive Mysterious Behavior, Gen, Hubris, M/M, Multi, Shadow Realm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamblers/pseuds/ezyl
Summary: Oh, what a feeling.The vending machine maniac was only one quarter of the way finished with his conspiracy theory about the Indigo Capes and Duel Monsters before Shiraishi took the initiative and pounced on top of his self-proclaimed opponent, knocking both of them to the ground. In a stroke of truly inspired bloodthirst, he swiped the stupid Duel Disc from the arm of his self-proclaimed opponent and pressed the card slot against the guy’s neck. The lid popped open, revealing a tattery Lifeforce Sword and three Chimeratech Overdragons. Irony. He was only a bit disgusted with himself for knowing what those were.“Tell me,” he snarled, pressing the makeshift choke-hold to the guy’s Adam’s apple and playing up to the last bit of the otaku gangster that resided within the fibers of his very moral being. “What the fuck did you do to Fuji Yuuta?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted back in 2012 [here](http://pillowcased.livejournal.com/16545.html) for Tari, as my last submission for the PoT Forum Holiday Exchange.

Shiraishi was visiting.

Fuji heard about it over the voicemail machine, while the nozzle in the shower was still dripping despondent music notes and the musk of the condensation hadn’t completely faded from the bathroom mirror. Shiraishi’s voice was tired, unsure about his decision and only slightly apologetic, tinny and murky over the telephone lines. There was something very charming about the quality of his voice like this, almost velvet-like. He sounded like a confused television host.

“I-I’ll bring cake, or something sweet. Do you like orchids?” The messaging system beeped once in warning and Shiraishi hastily added, “Fuji, are you there? Maybe you prefer green tea, and wafers--”

(Click.)

He toweled his hair dry with a square washcloth, and rummaged around the sink drawer for a bottle of Gatsby cream. The area around the sink was a total mess, like somebody had poked a hole in a magic hat and spilled a large case of tacky hair products and silver toothpaste all over the marble and hadn’t bothered to straighten any of it out. That was probably the case, either way. Yuuta was terrible about being organized, and Fuji didn’t expect anything less from his brother. He kind of preferred it like this.

It was a little cold and goosebumps start forming around his elbows. He heard the key turn in the lock and now somebody was outside in the living room making lots of noise, stirring up dust and couch pillows. He turned the nozzle of the shower back on and stepped back into the stall. Cold water ran down his back for a moment before it started to warm up again.

“Eiji, is that you?” he called.

“Affirmative!”

“I can’t find his Gatsby. Can you come in here and give me a hand?”

The bathroom door opened up a small crack, and he could see the tips of Kikumaru’s red hair. “Oi, aren’t you taking a shower?”

“So?”

“So you’re like...naked and stuff, Fujiko.”

He chuckled. “Are you finally acknowledging the existence of intimate space? A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Shut it, I’m trying,” Kikumaru said grumpily. Half of his face was still covered by the door. “So what’s up?”

“I can’t find his Gatsby.”

“Gatsby? You mean like the cream?”

“... _No_ , I mean like the masterpiece of American literature. I want to smear it all over my hair. That’s how much I love it.”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic, ne,” Eiji pouted. He finally entered the bathroom, but there was enough steam in the air to obscure his head. Fuji peeked his head around the shower curtain. A few drops of water slipped off his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey, what,” said Kikumaru. He started toward the drawer but Fuji stuck out an arm and drew back the shower curtain. A sudden pocket of hot air engulfed the rest of the tiny bathroom. His face was still dripping water.

“Hey, come over here.”

“What are you doing?!”

“Come in here with me.”

“Wai--” Kikumaru protested, but Fuji was already grabbing at his shirt and hoisting him ass-first into the shower. Hot water dripped around both of them, all over Eiji's neck and his t-shirt and jeans, salty warm at first and then really really cold and warm again. He wheeled his arms about and shouted indignantly but Fuji only latched onto him tighter, his bare arms slippery without soap and his chest broad and oddly scratchy against Eiji’s back. The drains gurgled ominously.

“The hell are you doing!”

“Stop squirming,” said Fuji, and he laced his fingers against Eiji’s stomach, tight. “Here, turn around and put your arms around me. Like that.”

“You tricked me,” Kikumaru said unhappily. He twisted around in Fuji’s wet embrace, and felt the water crawl into his socks and between his toes. He wrapped his arms around Fuji’s back and looked into his eyes. Droplets of shower water splashed across his face, screwing with his vision and flattening his hair. “You fat liar. You never use hair cream anyway.”

“You knew that,” said Fuji, and he rubbed his forehead against Eiji’s before leaning down and resting his chin on Eiji’s shoulder. His face was wet. “You came in here anyway,” his voice was muffled against Kikumaru’s wet shirt. “You’re a good boy.”

“I heard the news.”

“I know that.”

“You’re completely naked,” Kikumaru whispered.

“I know that, too.”

“I don’t think you do, ne. Why are you even in here?”

“...”

“You’ve been crying. You’re still crying, aren’t you, Fujiko?”

“I’m not. It’s just the shower water.”

“Shower water doesn’t taste salty.”

“Yes it does. Now be a good friend and find me a Gatsby.”

“...Shh. It’s okay. Let’s find you a Gatsby, then.”

The water settled into a gentle hum. It was already turning cold and Eiji could feel the despondent music notes disappearing between each heave of Fuji’s chest. He was such a good friend. He deserved a gold star.

 

 

The fountain drink machine was a 2007 model built by Glico. It hurtled toward its doom at approximately 80 kilometers per hour, smacking into the corner of two brick walls with a satisfying crunch. Several metaphysical ravens flew off the rafters and five store windows flickered open, their occupants glaring at the young man who had launched it. The alleyway was pseudo-dark and there was a van parked nearby. The van had a large OreImo advertisement painted across its left windshield, and it looked very much like it belonged on a film set about otaku gangsters. Shiraishi regained his bearings, and thought of his mother.

So this was Ikebukuro.

“Listen here, you better fuck off. Fuck off before I get really angry.”

“That was quite impressive,” Shiraishi said. He stood up and his legs were only a little shaky, which was probably good. He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “You should teach me how do that.”

“You think?” said the other guy. “Damn fucking right it’s impressive. But you’re way too weak to learn a move like this, aniki.”

“Too weak?”

“I just said that.”

“But I play tennis. I’m very good at it and I’ve got great upper-body strength. It’s ecstasy.”

The young man snorted derisively. “Tennis is for pussies. The kind of irrational anger you need to accumulate in order to wield an object of public property requires an immense inner reserve of emotional strength, know what I’m saying? It’s all natural, and completely incomprehensible. I’ve watched the Grand Slam before! You tennis people are all about control and mental stability and stuff. That’s not the shit for me. Like I said, you’re weak.”

“Ah...I guess I really wouldn’t know, then. I’ve been weak for a very long time.”

“Have you?”

“I have.”

 

 

They left the shower together one hour later, when the skin on Fuji’s fingers had turned pruny and too rubbery to form a solid touch. Kikumaru found a bigger towel and wrapped Fuji in it, and then he made really shitty tea and added too much sugar to it. While Fuji sipped the tea, Kikumaru changed into some dry clothes he found in Yuuta-kun’s closet and rifled through Yuuta-kun’s cd collection. He was surprised to find a lot of classical music mixed in with the Eminem and UVERworld, and settled upon a blank CD, inserting it into the battered stereo. It had a piece of masking tape over the label and two words sloppily written on it in magic marker, “CLASSICAL SHIT”.

“What did you just put into the music player?”

“CLASSICAL SHIT.”

“Oh, that one. I quite like it. Yuuta recorded a nocturne he wrote while he was inebriated with some guys in his history class and it was very lovely. I’m all out of tea. Can we make some more?”

The kettle boiled at 11pm precisely, and that was when the doorbell rang, as well.

“I’ll get it,” said Kikumaru, but before he could make his way to the door the lock turned by itself and Mizuki Hajime came bursting through the threshold. He was wearing an indigo cape and a bandolier with empty pockets. He also carried a leather briefcase, monogrammed with the letter ‘KC’, which were neither his initials nor anybody that Eiji could recognize. It was all very suspicious.

“Why are you guys here?” Mizuki demanded. “This is Yuuta’s apartment.”

Fuji looked at the door once and turned toward Eiji. “I’m feeling kind of bitter right now. Don’t add so much sugar into the tea, OK? And maybe only a touch of cocoa powder.”

Mizuki stalked across the living room and rounded on Kikumaru. “I asked you a question. Why are you guys here? Where is Yuuta? And why are you wearing his training parka? Do I have to report you for trespassing, because I w--”

“I’m surprised,” said Fuji very loudly, “that Yuuta would continue to associate with some of those depraved morons he met in junior high. He’s in college and it’s been years since he’s needed a friend back at St. Rudolph’s, don’t you think so, Eiji?”

Kikumaru looked down at the sweater he was wearing. “This is supposed to be a training parka? I thought those were supposed to be warmer.”

“Look, me and Yuuta go to the same university,” Mizuki snarled. “And I demand to know of his whereabouts. We’re usually inseparable and I need to give him these ca--”

“It’s weird,” Fuji said loudly again, “I’d think that if were two people were _truly inseparable_ , one of them would know or at least be able to figure out where the other is at all times, right, Eiji?”

Kikumaru eyed Mizuki stonily. “You should go. Yuuta-kun isn’t here.”

“ _Inseparable_ ,” Fuji scoffed, and he laughed once. He took another sip from his empty tea cup.

 

 

“Street...dueling,” said Shiraishi.

“That’s right!” said the guy with ridiculous hair. “I challenge you to a street duel! Over the honor that we both bear as the men of this world, I challenge you to a street duel.”

“But that sounds dangerous!” Shiraishi backed away. “And also kind of sexist.”

“Come on, duel me!”

“Look, bro, just how old are you anyway?”

“That doesn’t matter! I’m a man.”

“Well either way, I don’t have any weapons to fight with. So if this were a duel then you’d win, and also by an unfair advantage.”

The young man ran a hand through his ridiculous hair. His hair was brown and highlighted with orange streaks and almost two times the size of his face. “It’s OK! I can lend you my friend’s deck. It’s a junk synchro deck and we’d have to ride d-wheels to maximize its advantage, but it’s not that big of a deal anyw--”

“Hold on, back up,” Shiraishi stared at him. “We’re battling with decks? As in, decks of cards? Like poker cards?”

“No, you big palooka! Like Duel Monsters!”

“I have no idea how to play Duel Monsters. Plus aren’t you a little too old for this kind of thing?”

“You can never be too old for Duel Monsters!”

“Look, can’t we just play tennis instead?”

“Sure! What’s tennis? Is that some kind of cool deck master?”

“Oh, for the love of--”

 

 

Fuji left the air conditioning on that night. They together slept in Yuuta’s bed, Eiji curled into a shivering ball and Fuji covering him with three blankets and two limbs. They stayed in bed well into noon and until Maroon 5 started playing on the radio and another voice message came onto the machine, from Shiraishi again. His voice sounded kind of silvery this time, like it was made of cobwebs. He was still doing that thing where he was impersonating the confused television host.

“I’m having difficulty procuring the tea,” he said, “so we might have to make do with americano. I’m terribly sorry, but then again you’ll have to remember that the tea was my idea in the first place. I met these crazy people in Ikebukuro and I swear one of them didn’t have a head. Anyway, I hope you’re there, because I’m about to profess my unconditional love for you.”

Fuji felt his heart beat a little faster. Kikumaru was still asleep but he grabbed his best friend’s hand and squeezed it as hard as he could.

“...is what I would say, but I know you’re not there. Any luck with Yuuta-kun yet? What happened to him anyway? You know, I met this guy who tried to play a children’s card game with me. His hair was really awful and the game was really complicated and I’m still not sure I know how the rules work. Weird, don’t you think?”

The machine beeped again in warning. He had one minute left. Shiraishi hung up.

“He hung up again.”

“He’s probably busy, Fujiko.”

“He was going to tell me he loved me.”

“Was he really? Maybe he knew you were listening to him on the other side, and that’s why he said it. He was trying to be mean. He thinks he’s so funny. Those Kansai people are all always mean. They always think they’re so funny, too.”

“No...he didn’t know. He wanted to know about Yuuta. Why does he care so much about Yuuta? Has he ever even seen Yuuta before?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s in love with Yuuta. That why he cares so much about him. Gosh, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Geh...Fujiko, let me sleep for a while, okay? The air conditioning is too cold.”

“It’s just the way I like it.”

 

 

Shiraishi was halfway through the rulebook and learning about synchro summoning when the blonde guy who threw the Glico machine appeared again, this time with a man in a lab coat by his side. The alley was still pseudo-dark and the vending machine was still crippled in the corner, only this time the van was parked in the opposite lot and its driver was reading manga in the cab. The guy with ridiculous hair, Shiraishi’s self-proclaimed opponent, had been for the last 20 minutes brandishing a weird contraption on his arm that he called a Duel Disc. He had also donned an indigo cape, and cracked open a briefcase with a suspicious monogram on the leather. Inside were five-by-eight rows of what look to be collectible trading cards.

Vending machine dude makes his move first. “You should stop that nonsense right now!”

“Hey Shizuo, just leave them alone,” said the man in the lab coat. He was wearing a watch and constantly checking it. His glasses were also kind of skewed on one side. “Come on, we’ve got to meet up with Celty. Even Izaya says t--”

“What does that jackass have to do with this? I’m trying to talk to people here.”

Shiraishi stared at them, momentarily distracted. His self-proclaimed dueling opponent opened his mouth indignantly. “Look here! We’re having a street duel right now! Stop gawking at other people.”

“I’m trying,” said Shiraishi. “But I think he wants to talk to me.”

“You bet your fucking ass I do, tennis freak,” said the man named Shizuo. “I also want to talk with your buddy over there, too. He sent a kid named Fuji to the Shadow Realm last weekend. I would advise you to stay away from him.”

Shiraishi’s self-proclaimed opponent balked. “Hey not cool, Shizu-chan! Don’t go spoiling people’s duels like that!”

“What is going on?” said Shiraishi. “And what is this about a kid named Fuji?”

“This is insane,” said the guy in the lab coat. “I need some painkillers. I also need some sex. BUT I NEVER HAVE ANY OF EITHER.”

“Hey, aniki, what kind of tone is that?” Shizuo growled. “I’m not trying to spoil anybody’s duels! And the fuck do you mean by _spoiling_ , anyway? I don’t spoil shit. I might kick it over and bust its balls open and debone it and maybe sometimes beat it up within an inch of its sordid existence but I never, NEVER, spoil things…Wait hold up, did you just call me ‘ _Shizu-chan’??_ ”

 

 

Fuji spent the next morning crawling around Yuuta’s apartment looking for possible clues. He called up weird names in the phone directory that he thought looked vaguely sketchy, climbed out the window in search of the metaphysical ravens, and then ordered sushi from a bar in Roppongi. He wouldn’t let Eiji delete any of the voice messages in the machine, even when the inbox was full.

“That way he’ll have to pick up the phone when he reaches a dead end,” he explained.

“I don’t think that’s how cell phones work,” said Kikumaru, but by that point he was too delirious to really know what he’d been telling Fuji. The air conditioning was still too cold.

“Do you think he loved me at all, ever?”

“You need to stop obsessing about this, ne. Fujiko, go outside and get some fresh air.”

“I don’t want fresh air. I want my brother back and I want Shiraishi-san to stop thinking about him.”

“I really don’t think Shiraishi-san is thinking about your brother. He’s dating you, remember?”

“He hasn’t been dating me since last week.”

“But that was when Yuuta-kun went missing. We’re all worried about him, too.”

“Why does shit like this always happen?”

“Maybe it’s just bad luck.”

“It certainly isn’t serendipity.”

 

 

The vending machine maniac was only one quarter of the way finished with his conspiracy theory about the Indigo Capes and Duel Monsters before Shiraishi took the initiative and pounced on top of his self-proclaimed opponent, knocking both of them to the ground. In a stroke of truly inspired bloodthirst, he swiped the stupid Duel Disc from the arm of his self-proclaimed opponent and pressed the card slot against the guy’s neck. The lid popped open, revealing a tattery Lifeforce Sword and three Chimeratech Overdragons. Irony. He was only a bit disgusted with himself for knowing what those were.

“Tell me,” he snarled, pressing the makeshift choke-hold to the guy’s Adam’s apple and playing up to the last bit of the otaku gangster that resided within the fibers of his very moral being. “What the fuck did you do to Fuji Yuuta?”

His self-proclaimed opponent had the cheek to giggle. “Duel me and find out!”

“Fuck you,” said Shiraishi, and he slammed the Duel Disc into the guy’s chest until he started to cough. “You are going to tell me right now. And none of that Shadow Realm bullshit.”

Shizuo stopped in the middle of his speech and golf-clapped.

 

 

“...And that’s how I found you,” Shiraishi finished lamely.

“I could have gotten away by myself,” said Yuuta. He was frowning slightly. “Your shameless heroic efforts aside, I wasn’t even in any immediate danger. It’s not like you can really die in the Shadow Realm.”

“The Shadow Realm isn’t real,” said Shiraishi. “A rat-infested basement underneath Ikebukuro and a bottle of chloroform, however, are very real. You should really take better care of yourself and quit this street dueling business, Yuuta-kun.”

“Whatever. Mizuki-san says that it’s the kind of lifestyle you people don’t understand. Let’s go home. I bet my brother’s been worried sick about you. Or actually he probably invited one of his friends over and gotten _him_ sick, just because he’s been so worried about you. He loves you that much.”

“I never know how to deal with Fuji,” Shiraishi sighed. “Sometimes it’s like he totally doesn’t care about me at all. I called your apartment 20 times in the last three days and I left so many messages I couldn’t leave any new ones. He has not called me back a single time.”

“He has a complex,” Yuuta shrugged. “Or maybe he’s fucking people behind your back. But that one’s even less believable.”

 

 

They were in the shower again when Shiraishi and Yuuta came home, the nozzle dripping a terrible and melancholy set of music notes that sounded like it came straight out of a nocturne written by a group of drunken college students on New Year’s Eve. Kikumaru was the one who was naked this time, while Fuji had a towel wrapped around his legs. He was still kind of sick and he wished he had a bath tub, but he figured he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity until Fuji found his Gatsby.

“Hey, can I wash your belly? It looks kind of dirty,” said Fuji.

“Go ahead,” Kikumaru murmured, surrendering himself to the terrible shower. Fuji reached for the soap and began to lather Eiji’s stomach. He made small cooing sounds while he smoothed his fingers over Eiji’s bare skin.

The bathroom door opened. Yuuta and Shiraishi stared at them, both in quiet shock.

Fuji looked up. “Oh good, you’re back. Hey Yuuta, can you tell me where you put your Gatsby? We’ve been trying to look for it for days. You know I hear it’s great for use as a lubricant, too.”

Yuuta opened his mouth and for a while he couldn’t speak. “...It’s in my dresser,” he finally choked out, and then he turned to Shiraishi. “See what I mean? He’s got such a huge complex.”

Shiraishi, on the other hand, was gripping the doorknob like a vice. Shameless heroic actions be damned. “No, I don’t see what you mean,” he said, his mouth tight. “Look, I should go.”

“Where are you going?” Fuji asked, suddenly alert.

“To hell,” Shiraishi said. “Or even better, the _Shadow Realm_.” And then he turned on his heel and walked out of there as fast as he could.

 

 

He found Shizuo drinking plain water at a Russian sushi bar that evening, smoking menthols and reading a light novel about a demon king. He asked Shizuo if he could join him, and when his invitation was vehemently denied by a loud fist banging on the bar counter for grass jelly, he ordered a bottle of cognac and sat by himself with a pot of cherries that cost 500 yen.

“I’m such a poor schmuck,” he told his cognac, and then he downed his drink and laid his head down on the table.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Simon, the owner of the sushi bar. He lifted Shizuo’s bar seat while the guy was still sitting on it and slammed the chair legs down next to Shiraishi’s stool so that Shizuo was sitting right next to Shiraishi. “Listen to what this guy has to say, Shizuuu-o, you might learn something!”

“Fuck off, I don’t need to hear it,” Shizuo grunted, wetting his finger and flipping a page in his paperback. “It’s obvious. He’s in love.”

“Ah, but love is miraculous!” said Simon.

“It’s shit,” said Shiraishi. “It is complete and utter shit.”

“That’s what they all say when they’re in love,” said Shizuo. “Now buck up. You saved a stupid kid from the Shadow Realm today. You’re a real hero.”

 

 

“He’s a real hero, he saved me from rat-infestation and chloroform and everything,” said Yuuta. “So just what the fuck do you think you were doing with Eiji?”

Fuji ran a wet hand through his hair. “I just wanted to make him jealous. No big deal. Because he was being so obsessive about you and I thought...”

“You thought what?” Yuuta groaned. “Oh god, did you really think he was interested in me at all? You have got to be the dumbest brother ever. He’s completely mad about you. You! You big piece of turd.”

“Well, looks like I’ve fucked it all up,” said Fuji. “That’s just lovely, then.”

“What the hell, are you like a robot or something? We have to get him back!” Yuuta said.

“Yeah, get him back...” Eiji mumbled, splashing his arms weakly in the shower water.

“But how are we going to find him?” Fuji said quietly. “He stormed out and we’ll never find him.”

Someone cleared his throat behind Yuuta.

“Orihara Izaya. Deus ex machina, at your service.”

 

 

(The streets in Ikebukuro are hardly ever quiet, but sometimes people like to pretend that they’re the only ones walking in it, staring at the glittering shops and waving hello to the fountains and forgetting the color of the sky. The guitar intro begins to play, and then the drums click and the girly voice starts to sing. She isn’t AKB48, but she is somebody and somebody is telling Fuji how to feel and somebody is teaching Shiraishi how to win his battles. And between that, the lid of the duel disc pops open and reveals a Lightforce Sword and three Chimeratech Overdragons, only you’re way too chickenshit to play the damn card so you leave them behind and tell him that you love him. And then you drink tea.)

 

 


End file.
